


after the fire comes the ash

by isakath



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: A little angst, Dream Smp, Fantasy AU kinda, Fundy - Freeform, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, MC - Freeform, Mentioned Dream SMP Ensemble, Minecraft, Nihachu - Freeform, Niki - Freeform, TechnoBlade, Technoblade-centric, TommyInnit - Freeform, TommyInnit-centric, Tubbo - Freeform, Wilbur Soot - Freeform, dream - Freeform, jack manifold - Freeform, philza - Freeform, realistic minecraft-ish, sbi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isakath/pseuds/isakath
Summary: The revolution started in flames and ended in ashes. In the wake of one's defeat, another ran the streets red with blood, and the country of L'Manberg was changed forever. But Tommy isn't there to see its progress. Stranded miles across a sea from the city and country he grew up in, the young rebel is sentenced to an endless punishment of isolation. It would be lonely if it wasn't for Dream, an ever-present ally of Tommy who's got ulterior motives. It's those motives that Technoblade slowly discovers as the plot of L'Manberg's future and Dream's greed begins to unravel from their mysteries into broad daylight.
Kudos: 4





	1. burning coals

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to preface this by saying that these are characters, not the real life people (obviously). Also, it's not set in the smp. More of a fantasy-type setting? Still mc elements, just. . . more interesting. I've given it some depth, I suppose. Hope you all enjoy!

In the light of his roaring campfire, Tommy could feel his sanity slipping with every sizzle of iron upon charred wood.

Around him, the night air buzzed with the humming of insects. A torch hung outside his tent, coating the edge of the nearby sea in an orange glow. The waves crashed weakly against the shore, soft enough that their sound was even soothing. 

If Tommy hadn’t known better, he would’ve felt at peace.

“Hm,” a voice murmured, quiet against the crackling and hissing of the fire. “You’re just going to stare?”

Tommy didn’t reply. He was fixated on the once well-crafted iron, now being reduced to a thick, liquid sludge. It dripped slowly down the blackened spruce, painting the kindling in a reflective coating. With each piece of iron armor the flames consumed, Tommy felt his stomach drop further. 

A figure leaned down, head perched precariously above the heat, white mask wearing a broad smile. “Nothing to say?”

The flames sputtered as they began to consume the leather straps that connected Tommy’s chestplate to the rounded shoulder pads. He remembered when he’d made them, sitting next to Tubbo in the blacksmith’s shop, prancing around with his armor in hand, showing it off to anyone who would listen. Back then, he’d been so impressed with himself. He’d been so proud of his hard work.

And now it was reduced to ash. 

The figure, who Tommy knew was Dream, but refused to process what that truly meant, stood up straighter. “If we’re going to play the silent game, then I’ll be going.”

He left the light of the fire, trailing over to the edge of the sea, nothing but a shadow against the waves. It was there that he often docked his boat, tying his lead to Tommy’s makeshift pier. The sound of rope scratching against splinter-filled wood was all too familiar.

Tommy heard the  _ thunk  _ of Dream’s boots hit the belly of the boat. It was small, no more than a fishing boat at best, and only fit two people. But Dream always filled it with supplies. Gifts. Aid. 

Tommy had been thankful until he’d burned it all.

“Any chance I can get a goodbye?” came a shout, Dream’s voice carrying over to where Tommy still sat cross legged in front of the fire.

Tommy didn’t remember a word for goodbye. He didn’t remember much in the moment, not anything except one question, which he voiced with a feeble breath, “Why?”

The sounds of Dream’s boots against the wooden boat halted. “Why what?”

“Why did you burn my armor?”

Slowly, Dream reappeared, his rounded mask making his silhouette look comical and cartoonish against the landscape. He cocked his head, tilting it slowly to the side, an action so unnatural that it would have been eerie if it wasn’t for the stupid mask. “Because you--- well, you broke a rule, Tommy.”

“A rule?” Tommy asked, his voice a whisper in the night. His mouth was still hanging open, a gasp still lingering in the air from when the armor had been dropped into the flames.

Dream nodded. “What did I tell you about returning to the city?”

“To not.”

“Mhm. And what did you do?”

“I went.”

Dream took a few steps closer, his whole body coming back into sight. He was dressed like most guardsmen were; with a forest green cape draped over his shoulders and a thin longsword hanging at his waist, he seemed more intimidating. “You went, Tommy. And what are rules good for without punishment for breaking them?”

He gestured to the armor in the flames. “This is your fault.”

Tommy felt his shock, which had numbed his body to a frozen statue on the ground, give way to a fiery anger. “My fault?”

He sputtered, head whipping around to face Dream completely, who took a step back in surprise. “My fault?  _ My  _ fault? You bitch, what the fuck do you mean it’s my fault?” 

Dream held both hands up, a wide smile stretching across his face. “There’s the Tommy I know.”

“ _ You  _ threw my armor in the fire. All I did was walk a little ways too far, it was just an evening stroll---”

“No,” Dream corrected, his voice’s humor fading. “No, Tommy. We both know what you were trying to do. We both know you were heading to the city. You admitted it yourself seconds ago. Lying won’t get you anywhere.”

Tommy gaped at him, eyes wide and turning gold in the fire’s reflection. “That was my  _ armor.  _ I made it with Tubbo, I spent days--- weeks--- that was  _ my armor--- _ ”

“If you hadn’t tried to go back, it wouldn’t have burned,” Dream responded simply, voice condescending and devoid of its previous laughter.

_ I don’t understand.  _ Dream knew what that armor meant. He knew, he’d always known. Tommy would see him every day when he passed the king’s tower, whistling the tune to a folk song long forgotten by most. They would wave to one another, Dream in his uniform, Tommy in his iron armor. 

Dream knew it meant something to Tommy. Why would he burn it?

“You didn’t have to do this, you could’ve just told me to not go, you could’ve just---”

“Don’t you get it?” Dream’s lips peeled upwards, his voice rising. “I  _ did.  _ You don’t listen, Tommy. And so, I had to make sure you knew. I wasn’t the reason this happened, Tommy.  _ You  _ were. You  _ are. _ ”

_ No, this isn’t my fault. It was just one visit, just one peek, I didn’t. . . I wouldn’t. . .  _ he  _ burned it. This is  _ Dream’s  _ fault.  _

__ “Fuck off,” Tommy spat, brow furrowed and fingers twitching. “You didn’t have to burn it. You didn’t have to.”

Dream sighed, shaking his head. “If you hadn’t gone back, none of this would’ve happened. If you hadn’t been your reckless, predictable self, you’d still have your armor.”

Tommy felt his stomach twist at the words. “No. No, if you hadn’t burned it, I would still have it!”

“But why did I burn it, Tommy?”

Silence stretched between them, punctured only by the crackling of flames and the buzzing of insects. Tommy felt his heart against his chest, loud and fast, ringing in his ears. 

“Because I left,” Tommy whispered miserably, watching the iron droplets mingle with the ash and charcoal. 

Dream smirked, nodding. “So you understand why I had to do it?”

The anger was draining almost as fast as it had come. Shame took its place, turning Tommy’s cheeks red and forcing him to look away. He allowed Dream a single nod, before saying, “Goodbye, Dream.”

The figure hovering nearby disappeared back behind the hill. The splashing of gentle waves against soaked oak slowly faded, and with it, Dream’s response, “Till tomorrow, Tommy.”

Around him, the forest sat idle, waiting patiently for Tommy to take a deep breath and compose himself. He could feel it watching, the trees leaning slightly towards the flames, as if they too knew how it felt to burn. 

He wondered if they longed for it in the same way he did.

Dimly, Tommy wondered if his armor was a prank gone too far. If it had been some foolish joke all along. Maybe, he thought, Dream hadn’t meant to drop it. Maybe, he reasoned, it was just a friendly gag. And maybe, he told himself, Dream hadn’t meant to hurt him. 

But the look on his face had said enough. When he’d removed the mask as he stood over the flames in the light of the arriving dusk, his eyes had shone with something gut wrenching. Tommy had never seen such an expression from Dream before. He was always so full of life, with enthusiastic rambling about training with George or Sapnap, bickering with Sam, or chatting with Fundy. His eyes, though, when he’d dropped the armor, had been desolate. Cold. Empty. 

Not a single part of him had cared for Tommy in that moment.

Tommy finally stood, his legs stiff from sitting in the dirt. The flames were dying out now, their bright color now a dull red. Melted iron coated the logs, snuffing out embers and ash, putting the fire to its death. 

_ Maybe he’ll apologize tomorrow _ , Tommy reasoned, turning and retreating into his tent. 

But he never did. 

Months passed, the days flying by like gusts of wind, gone before they had even begun. They started to blur, summer fading to fall, until Tommy stood beneath the spruce trees, yearning for the orange leaves that his city’s trees had donned. He hadn’t seen them since the armor incident. 

There were many incidents to follow. Every axe Tommy managed to assemble was snatched from his hands and snapped. Every scrap of bread he was given from the nearby villages was thrown to the fish at the sea’s edge. Every golden nugget pitying passersby gifted him was plucked away and dropped into Dream’s coin purse. 

Over time, he learned the rules. One, for instance, was “no wandering.” Dream hated it when he strayed too far. Another was “no fishing.” The food Tommy ate was provided by Dream alone. There were others, too, that stayed stoic, but life with Dream was becoming impossible.

Every day, a new rule was written. Every time Tommy so much as tore a strand of grass from the earth, Dream slapped his hand away and threw the blade to the wind. Just when he’d thought he’d done everything in his power to appease Dream, another incident occurred. 

Sometimes, he wondered if he was going crazy. Bread wasn’t a crime, not last he checked. Wandering wasn’t, either, nor was the smallest penny of gold. But Dream thought so. And Dream was kind to him. Dream brought him food and water when he ran out. Dream brought him clothes and bandanas when he’d dirtied his while mining. Dream brought him laughter and company during long weeks of isolation.

Dream was no Tubbo. Dream was no friend. Dream was no home. But he was nice in the absence of them. 

Tommy sighed and shook himself, glancing around at his campsite. It had been two months or so since he’d first arrived, and now the air was chilly and merciless. He feared the winter months, knowing he had nothing but the fire to keep himself warm. Maybe he could ask Dream for a lanturn of some sort, or, at the very least, a smoker. In theory it sounded nice, but recently when he’d tried to form the words to ask for something, they’d turned to dust in his throat. 

Faintly, he heard the sloshing of waves and the hum of a whistling tune, and tensed. His body went frigid, the air leaving his lungs, and he felt the panic set in. 

Dream was here too soon.

They’d discussed his arrival a few days ago, taking in account the progression of the festivals back in the city, and decided Dream would come out to visit Tommy in a week.

But today was Tuesday. Dream wasn’t set to return until dusk on Friday night.

_ Not today _ , Tommy thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut.  _ I don’t want to see him today.  _

__ He consoled himself, saying things like, “he’s brought food,” “he’s brought supplies.” None of those assurances did Tommy any good. When he turned with a greeting, mouth set in a strained smile, his fingers shook and his legs wobbled beneath him.

Dream couldn’t find what he had clutched behind his back. 

_ I’m not prepared. I got no warning. What if. . . what if he takes it away from me? _

__ He dug his fingers into the edges of the round metal. Faintly, he could hear the shimmering magic rippling across it, ancient and unnatural. When he’d first seen it, he’d been unable to believe his own eyes.

What he held was a compass. Simple redstone and iron was usually nothing, but this was different. He’d found it on the dawn of his second day of exile, sitting pretty on the grass outside his tent. Attached was a note, reading only, “I remember how much he meant to you.” 

Tommy hadn’t known what to make of it. He would’ve said it was from Dream, the only person who knew where he’d gone after his exile, but the magic was too unearthly for Dream to have known about. It was the very thing Dream wanted, the very thing he hadn’t been able to acquire: the magic of something not worldly. 

Tommy had only known that it was special because Techno had used to talk of what godly magic looked like before. He’d had a thing for trying to concoct the rarest potion or the first and only totem made by man’s hands. But for all his trying, Techno had never been able to figure out the works of otherworldly magic. 

Tommy had planned on asking Dream who the compass belonged to, but when he’d turned it over, he’d felt his heart lurch in his chest. 

The back of the object was golden, and engraved in the thin metal were two words: Your Tubbo. 

The compass hadn’t left his person since. When he held it, he felt as though his best friend was right there with him, even if the dial was pointed north, far across the sea. Tubbo would never be in exile with Tommy, but if he closed his eyes and held on tight enough to the magic, maybe he could pretend otherwise.

“Tommy!” Dream bounded up the hill, arms full of something long and colorful. “I’ve brought you something.”

_ Stop shaking _ , Tommy willed his fingers, holding the compass so tight that his fingers went white. “You’re early, Dream.”

Dream slowed as he got closer, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, so? I thought you’d appreciate the company.”

“Oh,” Tommy managed, nodding. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The festival ended early. You couldn’t be there, so I brought some streamers. Maybe we could have a festival of our own, hm?”

Tommy jerked his head up and down in an awkward nod. “There’s only two of us, though, Dream.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “What, am I not good enough company, then?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s just. . . I don’t know, wouldn’t it be a bit pathetic, just us and some leftover streamers? I don’t even have music out here. It’d be a shit party.”

“You have no faith in me, Tommy. I’ll make it fun.” As Dream turned to the tent, draping a red streamer above the entrance, Tommy slipped his compass into his pocket and let out an audible sigh of relief. 

Dream turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Something up?”

Tommy felt his heart skip a beat. “What? No. No. Why would something--- why would you ask that?”

“Hm. I guess you just seem tense. Something you want to tell me?”

_ No.  _ “Yeah. You’re annoying.”

Dream smirked. “Oh, am I?”

“You’re prodding into my business. You’re  _ nosy.  _ You know that? It’s obnoxious.”

Dream just laughed, shaking his head, and hung another streamer over a nearby tree. 

Tommy hoped he’d got Dream off his case, and so he wandered closer, and held out a hand. “Can I hang one?”

“Sure, Tommy.” 

He grabbed a white streamer, frowning at the crumpled edges, but refused to comment on it. Complaining about being homesick was the last thing he wanted to do. Live in the moment, as Dream said, was his new motto.

But judging by the weight of his compass in his pocket, it wasn’t working very well.

They hung the rest of the streamers on surrounding branches and leaves until the whole campsite was surrounded in an array of colors. It looked just as sad as Tommy had predicted, with flimsy paper lines forming some kind of weak border around the area, but the thought was there, and that was what mattered. 

“You know, Dream,” Tommy began, eyeing the decor, “it could look worse.”

Dream smiled. “It’s no festival decor, but I think it fits the occasion.”

“Your visit?”

Dream nodded, and his smile grew. The light started to leave his eyes, draining slowly and steadily until they were left blank and hollow. “I’m taking you with me to get gold today.”

Tommy watched Dream uneasily. “Uh, you mean we’re going mining? If you need gold, I know a good spot down by the shore. There’s spiders and shit but you’ve got a pretty stacked sword---”

Dream held up a hand, shaking his head. “No, not here. We’re going somewhere. . . unnatural.”

_ He can’t mean. . .  _

__ Dream reached into his satchel and drew out a faded paper map. On it, he pointed to a speck drawn in a rectangular shape, the insides colored purple. 

“If we follow this path,” he said, his finger trailing from a scribbled shoreline to the forest and then beyond, “we’ll get to the ruined portal. And from there. . .”

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat. “The Nether.”


	2. i - hope sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a revolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude, part 1.

**_Ten months ago._ **

_ “Tommy, look what I got!” _

_ Tommy threw his head back dramatically, his fingers lifting from the golden helmet he was tinkering with. “Wiiiiil, I’m in the middle of working---” _

_ “I know, I know, but it’s important! I promise, okay, just turn around!” _

_ Begrudgingly, Tommy turned, eyes meeting Wilbur’s. _

_ He was grinning, his face bright and smiley, his eyes twinkling with pride. He wore a uniform, the colors red, yellow, and blue, the edges a bit wrinkled and the seams a bit tight. It was clearly a hasty sewing job, but despite the roughness, Tommy had to admit that his brother looked like an entirely different person. What had once been childish and happy-go-lucky now looked put together and mature.  _

_ “You like it?” he asked, twirling in a circle to showcase the whole outfit. “Niki and I worked on it together. The colors have symbolism and everything.” _

_ Tommy couldn’t help the smile that slid over his features. “Wow. Wil. . . you look all grown up and shit. Like a. . . yeah, like a leader.” _

_ Wilbur brightened. “Really? That’s what I was hoping for. And since you like it so much, guess what.” _

_ “If you want me to make an armor set to match it, go ask someone else, I’m not making shit for you---” _

_ “No, no, that’s not what I was gonna say,” Wilbur laughed, shaking his head. From behind his back, he withdrew a hand, folded fabric clutched in it. “I was going to say that this is for you.” _

_ Tommy gaped at him, eyes pinned to the outstretched cloth. He took it, unfolding it to reveal a uniform that mirrored Wilbur’s, though it was a tad smaller. The shirt was lined with golden ribbon and roughly stitched shoulder pads. The pants were long and fitted, though the ends had a few threads sticking out, but Tommy grinned nonetheless.  _

_ “You’re serious, Wilbur?” _

_ Wilbur’s face shined with pride. “I want you to be at my side, Tommy. We started this together, and it should end that way, too. You deserve this uniform.  _ We  _ deserve this rebellion.” _

_ Tommy pulled the uniform to his chest, grinning. This was it. Their dreams of a life lived free from tyranny, free from Schlatt, were finally becoming reality. It was just one uniform, just a few pieces of sewn-together cloth, but it had a heart. It had a soul. It would bring to life a flame that would burn so bright it could never be put out.  _

_ This, Tommy realized, was  _ hope. 

  
_ And hope, he dreamed, could never be extinguished.  _


	3. embers of arctic escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey to the Nether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Techno POV :D

_ “If you find it in yourself to forgive me, then come home.”  _

Techno stared at the crumpled paper for a moment too long. It was still sitting here, eight and a half months later, displayed on Phil’s bedside table. 

Techno had wondered, since the day his father had shown up at his front door, if it was a reminder Phil needed. If it was an assurance to convince him. If, at any moment, it’s meaning wouldn’t be enough. 

Ever since then, Techno would awake, half assured that his door was left open, a set of footprints there in the snow, leading back towards the forest. Back towards the city. Far, far away from Techno himself. 

Not a part of him would blame Phil for leaving. He wasn’t one for words, but he tried his best to let Phil know how much his apparent forgiveness meant. But if he lost his family again, it would not come as a surprise. 

Nothing much surprised him these days. 

He left the note where it was, his own poor handwriting scribbled on its surface from so long ago. He didn’t want to revisit where he was when he’d written it. Instead, he rounded the room, tugging the sheets taut and fluffing each feather-filled pillow. He wanted everything to be neat and tidy for Phil when he returned from mining. It was, he hoped, reason enough to stay.

Outside the windows, snow fell in a light downfall, the flakes fluttering past the windows peacefully. Techno had always liked it out here, far from the bustling city and mixture of noises. Here, he could think without the echoes of voices. When he and Phil spoke, it was not with the tension that it had been when he was growing up, nor when Phil had first arrived. Now, the air felt calming around them, and hostility seemed to evaporate at the doorstep. 

Techno remembered, back during Phil’s first week in the snowy cabin outpost, his remarks about the setting. 

_ “It’s. . . quiet,”  _ he’d said, lips drawn in a thin line.  _ “Nothing like back there.” _

_ “Well,”  _ Techno had answered, glancing around awkwardly,  _ “it’s easier to think straight when the world only talks in whispers, ya know.”  _

__ Phil had nodded, a small smile on his face.  _ “It’s good for you, mate.”  _

__ And that had been that. 

There had never been much talk of why Phil had come out to the tundra. Techno had drawn his conclusions, of course, especially when Phil had relayed the news of what had happened to Tommy, but they preferred to dance over the topic. The past, which Phil could clearly remember, was something Techno wanted to forget. He assumed his father did, too.

As if on cue, the door to the cabin creaked open, and Techno backed out of Phil’s bedroom and twisted the knob to shut the door behind him. Slowly, he made his way to the back entryway of the house, and slipped out into the chilly outdoors. 

He watched as Phil, none the wiser of Techno’s presence on his back porch, continued into his house and deposited his sack of ores on the floor.

Techno smiled to himself. He hoped Phil appreciated the sprucing up he’d done, but he was much too uncomfortable with praise to stick around and hear a thank you. Instead, he trekked back to his own cabin, which stood only a few feet away in the snow.

Outside, a stable had been constructed, eight months of hard work allowing Techno the time to add detail to his horses’ shelter. Carl greeted him there under an elaborate overhang, letting out a soft grunt and shaking his head side to side. The wood was carved ever so delicately, the design complicated and exhaustive, but to the average eye, it would appear to be just that. 

Techno, though, had carved quite a few runes into the stable surrounding his horses. Most of them were protective magic symbols, meant to be enhanced enchantments that could be applied to more than just armor. The runes, though, did not glow like the otherworldly magic of said enchantments. Techno was limited in his knowledge of such, and so had simply used the ingredients of a strength potion and applied it to his runes. He had no qualms, though, as it worked like a charm. 

Carl neighed, his breath clouding in the air, and Techno smiled at his horse. “You’re an attention seeker, you know that?”

Carl just blinked back, nuzzling his face towards Techno’s outstretched hand. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Techno murmured, petting the horse with a few passes of his hand. Carl’s fur was clean and his body was warm, just as it should have been with the stable’s enchantments. It kept Techno from having to worry about the cold climate, seeing as it wasn’t as familiar to his horses as that of the city’s.

Techno, though, didn’t like to think about the city. 

“You ought to hire a servant service. I never thought I’d see the day that the Blood God cleaned my cabin.”

Techno turned, lips stretching upwards, to face Phil. He was standing a few feet away, still dusty from the mines, a grateful look in his eyes. 

“Cleaning your cabin?” Techno said, scratching the back of his neck with a hand, “Nah, I can’t remember doing that. I was probably out working on god stuff. Being benevolent and all.” 

Phil smirked. “Mhm. I suppose I’ll have to thank the ghost who cleaned it, then?”

They both laughed, and Techno nodded, gesturing across the tundra. “Eh, you never know, who says ghosts are really just myths? They could’ve been cleaning your cabin this whole time and you’d have never known.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to greet them next time I see them,” Phil joked, eyes bright. “By the way, I got good supply today, in case you wanted to organize ‘em and all. No gold, though. Seems there’s not much out here in the cold.”

Techno nodded, though he couldn’t help the disappointment that hit him. He’d been searching for gold for days. He wanted to craft Phil the strongest armor he could get his hands on, and gold was half the recipe. Phil thought Techno just wanted the ore around for an extra clock or golden apple, but Techno had much greater plans in store. 

He was going to do everything in his power to have his father fully trust him again. 

“Guess I’ll have to get rid of this here cape, then,” Techno announced, poking the blue fabric that he wore with a calloused finger. “It’ll be much too hot for it if I want guaranteed gold.”

Phil paled, eyes widening. “You’re going to the Nether?”

Techno had expected such a reaction. The Nether had once been as much as a myth as ghosts were. Techno was a god, but not in the sense Phil was, where life was everlasting. His years of power had not stretched long enough to remember a time when the Nether had been unknown, but still, the fear hung around those in the overworld. 

It was a rift to hell discovered by evildoers in times long ago. Phil had told stories to Techno and his brothers as kids about the plot to bring zombified armies to the overworld and dominate the surface with piglins. They, of course, had found such a plot laughable. The words “zombified piglins” and “world domination” hadn’t made for the most serious of combinations. 

Phil, though, had lived in real fear of such a reality. Of course, the evildoers had been subdued and defeated, and the Nether had been banned across the entire country. Then, as years passed, a few were allowed to enter for resources, and then more, until the greed of netherite and gold grew so strong that the ban was completely forgotten. Still, it was rare that a soul dared venture to the Nether. It was filled to the brim with danger, and there was a dark magic hovering over the place, so strong it turned away even the bravest adventurers. 

Techno, though, was no average traveler. He was well-versed in magic, and had taken on much greater foes than what lay in the Nether. He’d made it a goal of his to understand the realm after he’d first moved away from the city, and so he’d done just that, and was now familiar enough with the place that traveling there was as easy as breathing. 

“I’ve been before,” Techno assured Phil, who was staring at him with disbelieving eyes. Techno hadn’t gone to the Nether since Phil had arrived two months ago. He’d been too preoccupied with rekindling their fragile father-son relationship. “Many times. I’ll be fine.”

Phil shook his head, pulling his green cloak around himself to fight off a chilly gust of wind. “I haven’t even gone there before. I always told you and your brothers to stay away.”

_ Well, I’ve never done what you’ve told me to.  _ “The resources were too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“Techno. . .” For a moment, Techno wondered if Phil was going to tell him to stay, but instead, his father just sighed and cast his gaze away. “Be careful. Don’t. . . don’t die.”

Techno felt his stomach twist. His voice caught a little as he said, “Oh, you know Technoblade never dies, Phil.” 

Phil smiled halfheartedly, and for a moment, they both felt the space of what they’d lost digging a hole into the air between them. “I trust that he doesn't.” 

It was on that note that Techno bid goodbye and began to journey to his portal. He’d worked for weeks on it, sculpting the obsidian with lava and water in just the perfect shape. One chunk out of place, and the structure wouldn’t light. 

It stood just on the shoreline, icecaps stretching into the horizon beyond it. Techno approached slowly, sword in hand as he passed through the purple film and into the landscape of a different world.

The first time Techno had jumped through the portal, he’d crumpled to the ground on the other side from nausea. He’d been unprepared and overexcited from successfully lighting it, and it had cost him. It had taken a few more trips for him to learn that a potion of fire resistance was needed to pass through the film without his stomach turning over. The purple fire of the portal itself was meant to unsettle anyone who wasn’t a native of the Nether.

Around him, flames and red rocky plains stretched every way he looked. He followed the trail of stone he’d left the first few visits, already feeling the heat of the place getting to him. Sweat was already beading on his neck and forehead, and his breath was already coming in shorter inhales. 

_ Gold _ , he reminded himself, stealing his head against the influx of murmuring that had begun to arise. The voices were stronger here, where he was more susceptible to attack or danger.  _ Gold and ancient debris. _

__ He’d been planning out Phil’s armor for weeks. Since Phil was immortal, it made his life more precious than most. Phil hadn’t made much of a deal out of it. He’d spent the parts of his life Techno knew with his kids, settled down in the city, far from the great unexplored beyond that most gods and adventures took to. But Techno knew better. He knew how rare beings like Phil really were. And he knew what it would mean to him if Techno acknowledged that. 

The land sloped downwards, heading towards the edge of a lava lake. Techno scaled what seemed to be a mountainside, climbing downwards towards the lava. He’d long left his path behind, and though compasses were useless to him in a place like this, he didn’t need them. He knew his way around the land better than most.

He would find ancient debris down at lava level, and hopefully gold there, too. 

Just as he jumped down the shore of the lake, an enraged squeal sounded from a surface of netherrack nearby, and Techno tensed.  _ Piglins.  _

__ A pair of creatures emerged from behind an outcropping of maroon rock. Both were humanoid pigs with large protruding tusks and beady black eyes. They wore leather tunics with golden clasps on their belts, and had gold weapons to match, a sword and crossbow. 

Techno grit his teeth and faced them with his sword outstretched. He’d long since learned that piglins were easily enraged. If strangers wore no gold, they were considered enemies. If strangers mined the natural gold, they were considered enemies. If strangers trespassed in their bastions, they were considered enemies. 

These piglins snorted and raised their weapons. Techno hadn’t bothered to put on his golden boots. There were falling apart at the seams anyway, the gold scuffed up and dented, the leather straps frayed and weak. 

In retrospect, though, they would’ve come in handy right about now. 

The first piglin charged, sword held aloft, but Techno easily dodged and struck his own blow to the creature’s knees. It crumpled, a pained snort filling the air, and Techno stabbed swiftly downwards. 

Somewhere in the back of his head, voices cried,  _ blood blood blood.  _

__ The next piglin screeched loudly at the sight of their dead friend. They fired off three quick shots from their crossbow, but Techno was too close to them for any to hit when he sidestepped. He stepped forward, slashing brutey with his sword, connecting iron to skin.

Blood spurted from the piglin’s neck, and it let out a gargled squeal before falling to the ground, dead. 

The voices in Techno’s head were getting loud. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, attempting to drown them out, but they were ever so persistent. 

He bent down and lifted the discarded crossbow from the ground. There was only one arrow left in it, not yet notched, just sitting idly upon wood and string.

_ It’s only one _ , he told the voices, shaking his head back and forth.  _ It can’t deal a killing blow.  _

__ His reasoning was useless.  _ Blood _ , they shouted, a flood of noise he’d so gratefully avoided in the tundra.  _ Spill blood.  _

__ Techno, running out of ways to shut up the voices, dropped the crossbow and wandered away. Distance, surely, would silence them. However, they continued, silent for so long that they needed just one more kill.

_ Find a mob _ , he told himself, scanning the landscape. Nearby, a roundish creature was hoping across the land, a squelching noise emitting from it every time it hit the ground. Techno had killed thousands of these things over his time in the Nether. He didn’t know their name, but they made for useful potions. 

He hoped they would silence his voices. 

He grabbed his sword and swung downwards, slicing right through the thing. It hissed, the goopy ball falling apart into slimy pieces. It was greenish-orange inside, a thick paste-like texture that he’d mixed into hundreds of potions, but there was something he’d forgotten didn’t leak from the creature.

Blood. 

The voices hissed with fury at the useless paste.  _ Blood is red. This is not.  _

__ Techno rolled his eyes in annoyance, a vein surfacing in his forehead as he raised his fingers to his temple.  _ Yeah, I know what blood looks like.  _

If the voices wanted blood so bad, maybe he could silence them with logic. He reached down and scooped up a glob of paste on his fingers. Then, he turned back to the crossbow, and raised the arrow up. 

Carefully, he spread the paste over the arrowhead. 

_ There _ , he reasoned, smiling triumphantly,  _ most mobs here are fire resistant. This arrow won’t draw blood on them now that it has fire resistance effects. _

_ Idiot _ , was all the voices said, and Techno let out a heavy sigh. 

There was apparently no winning with the voices. 

_ Up there!  _ they suddenly called, and Techno’s head swiveled upwards, peering towards a cliff towering above him to the side, right over the lava lake.  _ Blood! _

__ Techno squinted, slowly making out two figures standing on the cliffside. They were merely blobs to him up there, too far for him to make out what they were, but chances were that it was just another pair of piglins. 

“I can’t hit them from down here,” he scoffed out loud, an edge to his voice. “I’m good, but not  _ that  _ good.”

The voices grumbled in reply, their only response,  _ blood.  _

__ “I came here for gold and ancient debris,” Techno argued, letting out a frustrated growl. “Just shut up. Shut up.”

_ Blood, blood, blood.  _

__ Techno’s fingers curled around the crossbow in frustration, but just as he was about to stalk off to find an easier target a few miles in another direction, one of the figures on the cliff jerked forward abruptly. 

Techno watched in shock as the figure pushed the other forwards forcibly. The one closer to the cliff slipped, pebbles scattering, and plummeted towards the lava. 

_ Blood!  _ The voices cheered. There was something familiar about the way they said it, something so unsettling that Techno almost hesitated, but he didn’t have time for that in the moment. 

He notched the arrow, pulled the end backwards, and let it fly. 

As it made contact with the falling figure, the voices laughed, and finally went silent. 


	4. ii - a revolt's kindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misgivings are formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, pt. 2.

**_Ten months ago._ **

_ “Hey, Wil?” _

_ Wilbur turned, eyes locking onto Niki’s. She was watching him closely, concern etched into her features.  _

_ He frowned. “Yeah?” _

_ “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Niki said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “Is something wrong?” _

_ Tommy, sitting nearby with a dented sword in his hand, nodded in agreement. “You’re usually more of a bitch than this.” _

_ Wilbur shot him a glare, but Tommy just grinned back. _

_ “I’m fine, Niki,” he answered simply, though when he lapsed back into silence, it was with a worried brow.  _

_ Tommy, as little as he liked to admit it, was concerned, too. Wilbur was usually so full of excitement and passion. He’d been planning his rebellion for months, and some days, it seemed like not even a god could stop him. And, sure, they’d faced a pretty lousy defeat that morning at the skirmish, but it was just a minor setback. _

_ Or so Tommy had thought.  _

_ “There’s something on your mind, Wil,” Niki pushed. “Tell us.” _

_ Wilbur considered that, glancing at the two of them, before admitting, “What if we aren’t enough?” _

_ Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What the hell are you on about?” _

_ “You’re just a child, Tommy. And Niki, you’re just one person. And sure, we’ve got others, but I don’t think Schlatt thinks we’re the real deal.” _

_ “I’m not a child, asshole, I’m such a big man, you have no idea, if I saw someone like you I’d beat them up a thousand times and win and then go around telling everyone how weak you were, you dick---” _

_ Wilbur glared at Tommy again, holding up a hand to stop him. “Admit it, Tommy. We’re--- we're nothing!” _

_ “Wil, don’t say that,” Niki argued, shaking her head. “We’re changing people’s minds! Did you see them all today at the skirmish? They were holding up our posters and cheering us on.” _

_ Wilbur’s voice went cold. “But they didn’t step in to help us when Schaltt’s guards dragged us away. They didn’t so much as raise a finger against our enemies.” _

_ Niki frowned. “Well, not everybody can fight with us---” _

_ “But most can!” Wilbur shouted, the alley they were seated in echoing with his anger. “They just sit there like porcelain dolls, all pretty and nice, but so fucking fragile!” _

_ Tommy and Niki looked on in unease as Wilbur slammed his fist into the brick wall, hissing as it came away red and throbbing.  _

_ Slowly, he deflated, sighing as he eventually said, “They’re never going to learn. They don’t deserve this place if they won’t fight for it.” _

_ Niki’s eyes widened. “It’s their home too---” _

_ Wilbur’s eyes flashed, and he stood, turning his back to them. As he walked away, boots thunking against cobble, he growled, “It will be my perfect symphony, or it will forever be unfinished.” _


	5. awaiting flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the edge of a cliff, lives are gambled.

After Phil had described the Nether, Tommy had had nightmares for weeks.

He’d been younger, maybe ten or so, and very gullible. Always a prime target for Wilbur’s pranks, young Tommy had built up a false sense of strength. From the ripe age of ten, he’d decided that he was actually one of the most intimidating people on the planet. Stronger than the Wither, tougher than a ravager, scarier than an enderman.

It was this facade, though, that made him even more susceptible to the stories of hell. When Phil would tell them, Techno would laugh. He didn’t think they were real. Wilbur would grin. He thought the conflict was exhilarating. But Tommy? He would cover his ears with his hands and drone out the words. He thought the stories were terrifying. 

Of course, he would never admit this. He was Tommy, master of pranks, ensurer of chaos, superior of siblings. He wasn’t about to give his older brothers an excuse to ridicule him. 

Phil, though, knew that the stories got to him. He shared a room with Wilbur, but on nights when he was out goofing off with Jack and Niki, Tommy would lie alone, his thoughts of half skeletal piglins and two ton hoglins. Phil would calm him down, reminding him that hardly anyone went to the Nether, and that the piglins likely wouldn’t survive very long in the overworld. This, though, had done little to ease Tommy’s fears, and they were still present to this day. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dream drawled, tapping his foot impatiently against the splotches of netherrack surrounded by patches of grass. 

He was standing next to Tommy at the edge of the ruined portal, a piece of flint and of steel in his hands. He was striking them back and forth, sparks flying, but none hit the portal.

He’d already lit it minutes ago, simply by fixing the parts of broken obsidian and then letting a spark catch fire. Tommy had watched in awe, the closest he’d ever been to a portal before, let alone a  _ working  _ one. 

And now Dream wanted him to step inside. 

“Are--- uh, are you sure it’s--- well, it’s just, I’ve heard these things aren’t really all that safe---”

Dream sighed loudly. “You’ll be fine, Tommy.”

“Right. Yeah. ‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be fine? It’s not like there’s hellish monsters in there or anything, right?” Tommy laughed, the pitch high and off key, his heart hammering in his chest.

Dream eyed him skeptically, before reaching into his pouch and pulling out a bottle of orange liquid. It sloshed back and forth, sparkly orange insides clinging to the sides of the glass. 

“Fire resistance,” he explained at Tommy’s blank expression. “It’ll keep you safe from the lava and flames. Oh, and it takes the edge off entering.”

Tommy flinched away from the portal, shrinking back from the warbling noises and particles. “It hurts just to go inside?”

Dream shrugged. “Well, yeah. It’s a completely different world, Tommy. The rules change.”

_ Does that mean our rules will change, too?  _ Tommy gulped, nodding and taking the potion from Dream. “So, what, I just drink this and I’m fine?”

“If you count being resistant to about one out of a million dangers ‘fine,’ then sure, you are.” 

Tommy shuddered and sniffed the potion, watching it swish back and forth. “It smells like dog shit.”

Dream glanced at him, face bored. “That’s because it is.”

“What the hell? Are you insane, you think I’d  _ drink  _ this---”

Dream’s indifferent face broke into a grin, and he doubled over in laughter, shaking his head. “I was joking! Hah, no, it’s made of--- I can’t believe you took me seriously!--- no, no, it’s made of magma cream and nether wart.”

Tommy didn’t laugh with him. Shame bubbled beneath his skin as he replied, “I have no idea what the fuck those things are.” 

Dream, still grinning wide, shrugged yet again. “All you need to know is that they’ll keep you safe from fire. It’ll run out fast, though, so you’ve gotta be careful.”

“How fast is fast?”

“Hm. I’d say this one lasts no more than five minutes.”

_ The fuck?  _ “Five minutes is nothing! I’ll go up in flames for sure!”

Dream shook his head. “You’ll be  _ fine.  _ You have me, remember? I’ll keep you safe.”

Somehow, that thought didn’t comfort Tommy. “Yeah. Right.”

“Drink it so we can get going, alright?”

Tommy nodded slightly. On the way to the portal, he’d asked Dream why they were doing this. Going to the Nether was unheard of for mortals, and rare even for gods. Dream was a formidable foe, but as far as Tommy knew, not even he could be fully prepared for the dangers that Phil had described of the Nether. Granted, Phil had never been himself, only heard stories passed down, but still, Tommy had his fears. 

Dream had merely said what he’d informed Tommy of before: he wanted gold. When Tommy had told him that they could just mine it in the overworld, Dream shook his head and simply walked along, avoiding any other questions. 

Tommy grit his teeth and plugged his nose before he tipped the glass forwards and swallowed the contents. It dripped down his throat like consumable flames, licking at his skin and mouth, turning the world into a burning pain. And then, just like that, it was gone, and Tommy felt just the same as he had seconds before. 

“Woah. . .” he gasped, lowering the empty bottle and handing it back to Dream, who took it and discarded it in the grass. “That was. . . weird.”

“You get used to it eventually,” Dream said, and gestured to Tommy’s body. “But now you’re made of magic.”

Tommy glanced down to see orange particles floating off of him. They hovered around his skin, floating this way and that, but never so far as to leave him unprotected. Grinning, he prodded at them, poking his arm with a finger and laughing as the particles skittered away from his touch.

“This is badass! Why don’t we use these things more often?”

Dream frowned. “Potions are dangerous. Use them too much at once, and they drain your lifeforce. Magic is an intricate balance between life and death. That’s why gods and ghosts can use more of it than mere mortals.”

“Ghosts?” Tommy scoffed. “What, you mean like skeletons or zombies?”

Dream eyed him curiously. “Hm. Yes. That’s what I meant. . . Anyway, are you ready to go now?”

Tommy nodded. He felt more confident now that he’d seen the effects of the potion. “I’ll see you on the other side, Dream.”

He stepped forwards, only hesitating a moment before walking into the purple wall that was the portal. Around Tommy, the world spun in lavender circles, and he felt the rush of heat against his skin. Dully, he noted that it should have burned him, but somehow, it didn’t. A deafening whooshing filled his ears, and he cupped his hands over them until he heard nothing but muffled silence. 

Slowly, Tommy stepped forward, his eyes squeezed shut. Half of him didn’t truly believe he’d actually been transported to another dimension. But when he opened them, he couldn’t help the gasp that came to his lips.

The world was red. Lava dripped slowly down from towering cliff sides, and the earth made of wine colored rock that coated the ground. Above Tommy, glowing stone shimmered, it’s pale yellow color almost blinding. In the distance, he could make out a tree line. It was teal, and winding vines accompanied it, as well as tall black figures he recognized as endermen. 

Nearby, the red faded to a blackish brown, and the fires went from orange to blue. Skeletons patrolled the surface of the dark area, walking past tall pillars of a stone Tommy didn’t recognize. Far, far past that, he could’ve sworn he saw some kind of rectangular structure, with long hallways and stilts that sunk into lava, but he told himself he was seeing things. 

Suddenly, something landed on Tommy’s shoulder, and he flinched, but it was only Dream’s hand. He’d exited the portal and had come to stand next to Tommy, grinning. “Cool, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tommy admitted, eyes wide with awe. “I didn’t know that endermen and skeletons lived in the Nether, too. And when I heard about lava lakes, I thought they were just a myth, but this--- this is  _ insane--- _ ”

Dream chuckled, squeezing Tommy’s shoulder. “It’s like watching a kid at a candy store.”

Tommy grinned. “Call me a kid again and you’ll be eating lava for lunch when I push you in.”

They laughed, and Dream snickered, “Not if I push you first.”

They made their way across the netherrack terrain, Tommy asking questions and pointing out what he thought was captivating. They didn’t see a single piglin nor hog creature, and slowly but steadily, Tommy started to feel more and more comfortable. With the fire resistance and Dream to protect him, he knew he was going to be okay. 

It was his compass, though, that he worried about. If it fell out of his pocket somehow, he would lose it forever in the fire, and he didn’t know what he’d do without it.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

“That’s a magma cube,” Dream announced, pointing to a gelatin blob some ways away, bouncing across the brown area (which Tommy had been informed was called a soul sand valley). “Their cream is what makes fire resistance potions.”

“Thanks for the invulnerability!” Tommy called out to the creature, who was too far to hear him, and too dumb to understand. 

Dream smiled. “They aren’t the brightest. But they sure are hard to kill. When you cut their skin with a blade, they separate into multiple sentient pieces.”

“Like hell’s version of slimes?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Tommy’s eyes were bright with wonder. “That’s actually really fucking cool. I can’t believe so many people are scared of this place. We should’ve been coming here ages ago!”

Dream nodded. “It’s got everything from blaze rods to ancient debris. It’s incredibly useful.”

“That’s the netherite stuff, right?” Tommy asked, attention picking up on the words “ancient debris.” He’d always had a thing for crafting, and netherite had been the goal of his apprenticeship as an armorer. Back in the city, he’d learned all kinds of crafting styles, but he’d never gotten his hands on netherite. 

His mentor had said it was too rare a substance. Tommy had been up for the challenge, though, and offered to find the metal until he’d been informed that it wasn’t anywhere on the overworld, but in the Nether, instead. 

“Mhm,” Dream answered, though he seemed lost in thought. They were running out of land, making their way to a red cliff side, and Tommy slowed to a halt. 

“Maybe we can find ancient debris while we look for gold,” he offered, pointing back towards the portal. “There might be some that way.”

“No,” Dream replied simply. “There isn’t.”

Tommy frowned at the change of tone in Dream’s voice. “Okay, well, I might go check anyway. It’ll do us no good to just stand here.”

He turned to go, but fingers grabbed his shirt sleeve, and tugged him away. “No, no, Tommy. Come here. Enjoy the view with me.”

Tommy complied uneasily, standing next to Dream on the overhang, gazing down at the lava pool below. It was so far that he could barely see the bubbles popping and the smoke rising off of it. 

“You know, Tommy, I didn’t just come here for gold,” Dream announced, a smile on his lips. He looked content, and so Tommy tried to relax as well. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I came because I have something I need to burn.”

“Oh?” Tommy could feel his pulse in his throat, and sweat was pooling at the nape of his neck, and he couldn’t tell if it was solely from the heat. 

Dream nodded. “You remember your armor, Tommy?”

_ How could I forget?  _ “Yeah. That I got it burned?”

“You did, didn’t you?” Dream’s voice teetered slightly. “You shouldn’t have wandered.”

Tommy shuddered despite himself. “I know, and I’m sorry, but it didn’t happen again---”

Dream held up a hand. “No. You didn’t wander. You were good. I was so proud of you. . .”

He took a deep breath. 

“But. . .” Dream’s eyes grew clouded. “You broke a rule again, Tommy.”

Tommy choked as he was inhaling, his stomach tying into a painful knot. “What--- what the hell are you talking about? I did everything! I followed every rule, every word---”

“All but one.” Dream, quick as lightning, reached down and grabbed something from Tommy’s pocket. Before he knew what was happening, Dream was holding his compass, admiring the shimmering outsides. 

_ No.  _

__ “This is so nice, too,” Dream sighed, turning it over in his fingers and reading the back. “Aw, and it leads right to Tubbo, doesn’t it?”

_ No. _

__ “Such a pity it has to go to waste, Tommy. Maybe if you hadn’t hidden it, we wouldn’t be here.”

_ No.  _ Tommy’s voice came out fractured as he croaked, “You couldn’t have known. How did you  _ know? _ ”

Dream smirked, his lips turning upwards cruelly. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. You’re not very slick. I can sense magic from a mile away. I’m a  _ god _ , or did you forget?”

“No.” Tommy shook his head, his fingers shaking at his sides. “Please, Dream. You don’t know what it means to me---”

“I do,” Dream countered, playing with the dial inside. “That’s why I have to let it burn.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy gasped out, a panging forming in his head, “please, I promise, I’m sorry! Don’t destroy it, please, Dream---”

Dream shook his head. “You broke my trust. There are consequences to actions, Tommy.”

_ No. Not my compass. Anything but my compass.  _ Tommy lept in front of Dream, shielding him from the edge of the cliff. “You can’t do this!”

Icy reproach filled Dream’s eyes. “Oh, I can. And I will. This isn’t _ my _ fault, Tommy.”

Tommy grabbed the edge of Dream’s shirt, pulling the white fabric taut with desperate fingers. “I know it’s my fault, I’ll fix it, I swear, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do anything---”

“It’s too late for excuses,” Dream droned on, sighing. “Say goodbye to your magical possession.”

“Please!  _ Please, Dream! _ ”

Dream held his hand up to throw the compass, but Tommy grabbed his arm, preventing him from dropping it. At the touch, Dream’s eyes grew fiery with anger, and Tommy almost flinched back in fear, but he held on, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. 

“Let  _ go _ ,” Dream hissed, voice vile and merciless. 

“Drop it and I will!”

There was a moment where they stood there, Tommy shaking with desperation, Dream in a stance of contemplation. Then, a wicked spark appeared in Dream’s eyes, and the sickening indifference followed it.

The apathy Tommy lived in constant fear of trickled in, Dream’s face falling into disinterest, all the desperation lines softening, all the glee vanishing. 

“If you want to be with it so bad, maybe you should burn together.”

_ What? Wait---  _ “Dream. Wait, Dream, you  _ can’t--- _ ”

“I could.”

Dream shoved Tommy forwards, forcing the compass into his twitching fingers. Red pebbles scattered, and Tommy glanced backwards, eyes widening in fear. His heart jumped into his throat at the sight of the lava a thousand feet below him.

“I have fire res,” Tommy gasped out, his breaths coming quick, “you can’t hurt me.”

Dream simply shook his head. “Five minutes too long, Tommy.” 

Tommy’s gaze shifted to his hands, which no longer were surrounded by orange magic.  _ Fuck. No, it can’t be, I can’t be about to die--- _

__ Dream took a steadying breath, pulled back his arm, and said, “Say hello to Wilbur for me.”

And Tommy fell. 


	6. iii - smoldering fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, pt. 3.

**_Ten months ago._ **

_The revolution was falling through._

_Wilbur’s friends were starting to give up. Those who had families went home, and those who didn’t went to jail. Two weeks ago, they’d had an army. Now, they had a chosen few._

_Niki had stayed. She wasn’t all that fond of Tommy, but they were brought together by their care for Wilbur. They knew that neither of them would leave his side. Not until the end._

_And the end was impending. Schlatt was powerful and cruel. When he’d been elected all those years ago, he’d tried to exile every threat to his position. There’d been a moment when he’d tried going for Wilbur and Tommy, but the country hadn’t much liked that. They were only children, afterall. And Schlatt was still bound by popular belief._

_Or, he had been._

_Now, he would lock up whoever merely breathed in his vicinity. His jail was filled with thieves and innocents alike. The people lived in fear. But Wilbur? He’d changed that._

_Tommy gazed upon a statue in the main square. It was of his brother, posed heroically atop a slab of stone, L’Manberg’s flag hoisted high in his hand. He was smiling, face bright and hopeful, not an ounce of him unsure._

_The real Wilbur stood beside him. The contrast was jarring, the way the statue stood tall while Wilbur slumped. The way the stone face was carved into the perfect picture of joy, while Wilbur himself always wore a glower. And the way the polished uniform of grays and shadows sat crisp upon the sculpture’s skin, when the Wilbur Tommy stood beside had taken to wearing an old, worn trench coat._

_Tommy hated to admit it, but it was disheartening._

_Niki had admitted days ago that she was worried._ “He’s changing,” _she’d said, wringing her hands. ‘_ This isn’t the Wil I know.”

_And maybe she was right. But this was_ Wilbur _they were talking about. Tommy’s hero, his brother, his idol. He wanted to be everything Wilbur was. He wanted to be the victor, the revolutionary who single-handedly changed the political state of the country he’d grown so fond of._

_But he didn’t want to be the villain._

_“They got my face all wrong,” Wilbur scoffed, eyeing the statue with distaste. “And Schlatt’ll order it destroyed in a day's time, anyway.”_

_“I think it looks impressive and shit” Tommy retorted. “You look like a god.”_

_Wilbur’s gaze grew cold. “I’m not. I’m just a mortal. I’m not going to save these people, Tommy. Nothing can save these people.”_

_“Fuck that.” Tommy shook his head. “So what if you aren’t immortal like Phil or powerful like Dream? Schlatt’s mortal, and he’s ruining tons of lives. You can fix them, Wil, I know you can.”_

_Wilbur laughed at that, ruffling the hair on Tommy’s head. “You have too much faith in me.”_

_Tommy protested, swatting away Wilbur’s hand. “I think you need to have more faith in yourself.”_

_“Hm.” Wilbur narrowed his eyes at that, a spark catching in them. “Maybe I do.”_

_In hindsight, Tommy should’ve told Wilbur to have more faith in his country. In the people. In his family, his friends, anyone but his own sick mind._

_But Tommy hadn’t known how far gone Wilbur had been until it was too late._


End file.
